Page 4 of His Secret Betrayal (Cedarwood Valley Duology #2)

Before I can stop it, a chuckle slips from my throat.

Luke’s cheeks immediately turn a delicious shade of pink again, his fingers resuming the tap, tap, tapp ing motion on his upper thigh.

“Shit, sorry. I don’t mean you’re boring or anything.

” When I arch an eyebrow, he freezes. “ Shit! I didn’t mean to cuss.

Crap, I said it again. Can we maybe forget I said that?

” His hopeful expression warms me from the inside out.

I avert my eyes, pretending to study his resumé while I fight off the smile threatening to bloom across my face.

He's cute when he’s nervous.

“What design programs are you most familiar with?”

Luke seems to relax at the change of subject, and I nod along as he answers my question.

“May I see your portfolio?” Although he has no real-world experience, any graphic design program worth their salt would have taught their students to create a portfolio to show off their skill set.

In the creative world, a good portfolio can seal the deal, while a lackluster one is the kiss of death.

“Uh, yeah! Of course.” Luke fumbles around inside his bag, making my lips crook upward.

Finally, he pulls out a black binder and slides it across the desk.

I try for a reassuring smile, but it fades when our hands brush and his soft skin momentarily distracts me.

Luke’s sharp intake of breath has blood rushing in my ears as I open the cover, my eyes not really seeing anything as my pulse kicks up, and—

I cough, slamming back into reality as the first picture in Luke’s portfolio makes my normally calm facade crack a little. “Why did you give me a sketch of a man giving a blowjob?”

Luke’s face blanches, his timid smile immediately vanishing. Those beautiful green irises flare wide as he launches forward and snatches the portfolio from my grasp. “Shit, shit, shit. I’m sorry—” He runs a hand through his hair, tangling the strands around his fingers and giving them a small tug.

Shit, indeed. This whole kicked puppy look is really making me want to soothe him. An image of me pulling him onto my lap and running gentle hands over his lithe body until he relaxes pops into my mind unbidden.

Get yourself under control, Alek .

“Those are my drawings,” Luke mumbles, awkwardly jamming the folder back into his bag.

I blink.

Although I’m not an overly-talkative guy by nature, I don’t usually find myself stunned into silence. Yet, here we are.

“You drew that?” I finally ask.

“Sorry,” he mumbles again. Splotchy patches of red appear on his cheeks, his legs resuming their bouncing.

When he reaches down to grab his book bag again, I expect him to pull out the correct folder, but he slings it across his chest and stands.

My eyebrows furrow as he walks toward the door without even a backward glance.

“Where are you going? The interview isn’t over yet.”

He pauses with his hand wrapped around the door handle, making a frustrated sound as he looks at me over his shoulder.

“Is there any point? You probably think I’m the most unprofessional person ever.

You’re probably all like, ‘Wow, that Luke is a depraved little wanker, and I really dodged a bullet by not hiring him.’” His voice gets deeper in what I assume is a poor attempt to mimic me, his hands gesturing wildly.

This might actually be the worst interview I’ve had the unfortunate pleasure to endure, and yet, something that feels a lot like amusement zips through me. I cough into my fist, trying and failing to suppress the wry twist of my lips.

Now this is the impulsive and rash Luke Parker I’ve heard talk of.

Does he only act out when he gets emotional, or is he always like this?

I clear my throat, force my face back into neutral territory, and point toward his now vacant chair. “I do not think you are a deprived little wanker , but I would like you to stop acting like a brat and sit down. I will decide when the interview is over.”

When Luke doesn’t give my brat comment a snarky retort, that pleases me for some reason. He eyes the chair like it’s made of lava, but with one stilted nod, he slowly makes his way back over. He perches on the edge of the seat, looking as though he’s ready to bolt at any given moment.

I jerk my chin toward the book bag. “May I see?”

Luke pulls out a black portfolio, and I frown when I slip the cover open. Photos of business cards, company logos, and ads greet me. I absentmindedly tap my fingers on the desk as I flip through the pages, nothing about these photos making me feel particularly inspired.

I peer at him over my glasses. “Actually, I was hoping to look at your drawings again.”

He eyes me suspiciously. “Why?”

“I have a hunch, and I want to see if I’m right.”

Luke purses his lips and, for a moment, I worry he’s going to say no.

But finally, he reaches back into his bag and pulls out the other folder.

He places it on the desk, and I slide it towards me.

Flipping the cover open, I study the first page.

There’s a man sitting on the edge of a jacuzzi, his legs splayed open.

Another man kneels between him, his mouth wrapped around the other man’s cock, his cheek bulging with it.

Even though I'm more prepared for the erotic images this time, my body still reacts in a very visceral way.

Heat curls in my stomach, my mouth going dry.

I flip to the next page, vaguely aware of Luke sitting across from me with his front teeth gnawing into his bottom lip.

It’s a naked man kneeling on a bed, his well-defined muscles on display, glasses askew, and a flop of hair falling over his eyes.

His hard cock is jutting up, precum dripping from the tip, and the man’s hand is wrapped around it.

My own cock begins to harden in response.

On and on I flip, ignoring Luke’s fidgeting.

The drawings become a mix of realism, fantasy, and genders.

Some more erotic than others. But one thing they all have in common: people gazing at each other with adoration, and a look of mind-numbing euphoria on their faces.

The attention to detail makes me imagine I could be in these drawings, standing there with my cock leaking while I listen to breathy moans.

This is a fucking gold mine. Most of my interview questions fly out the window, because this is definitely the kind of creative energy I need around here.

Where the hell has this creative little genius been hiding?

Luke clears his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want to look at my real portfolio?”

“No.” I don’t care about a portfolio with business cards and social media ads. Not when I have this. It’s a first-hand look into Luke Parker’s brain and what makes him tick. “Most of these are men,” I observe.

“I’m straight,” comes Luke’s quick response, although it sounds more like a question than a statement. I don’t miss the way his eyebrows dip together, or the thread of self-doubt weaving into his tone.

My forehead wrinkles. “That’s…not an interview question.” And an unfortunate reminder I didn’t want.

He fidgets and crosses his arms. “In case you were wondering.”

I sigh. “I wasn’t, and it’s illegal to ask that in an interview. Besides, nobody cares what your personal preferences are.”

Lies. I care. Just not in the way I think he’s implying.

Sliding the drawings back across the desk, I give him a pointed look and continue. “Nobody here will harass you for your sexual identity or preferences, whatever those may be, and if they do then you come find me because it will be the last time.”

He nods, seeming to relax a smidge, and it warms something inside me. Shit, I need to get this interview back on track.

“Do you like to read?” It certainly isn’t a requirement of the job, but if the answer is yes, it would definitely swing things in his favor.

Avid readers tend to understand what makes a book cover appealing or unappealing.

Some skills are hard to teach. But having a passion for reading—that goes a long way in this business and lessens the learning curve.

He averts his eyes. “Yes.”

I narrow mine in response and tilt my head. Why is he acting shifty? Is he merely saying what he thinks I want to hear or…. Oh . I smirk. “What do you like to read?”

As predicted, I’m rewarded with another one of those pretty blushes. It makes me want to reach out and run a thumb across the heated skin. My body buzzes, becoming hyper-aware of his every reaction.

“Romance.” The mumbled answer is so quiet, I have to strain to hear it.

“Hmm, I wonder what kind of romance Luke Parker likes to read?” I lean back in my chair, crossing my legs and trying to hide my fascination as Luke begins to squirm. “Rhetorical question. I bet I already know.”

His head snaps up, his dark glare making my smirk widen.

For a moment, I wish this weren’t an interview.

Because I bet anything Luke has a snappy comeback dancing on that bratty tongue of his.

I wonder if some of his nervous energy today is because of the interview, or because of me.

Regardless, some of his natural sass has still slipped out, and I want to see more.

“Reading gay romance doesn’t make me gay. ”

I hold up two hands. “Once again, that’s not a question.

” Still, his reading choice does please me.

Not only is LGBTQ romance an exploding subgenre authors are struggling to meet the demands of right now, but also, as a bisexual man, I want our company to be inclusive.

If he reads gay romance, I don’t think it’s a huge leap to assume he understands what sort of book covers sell well in the subgenre.

That he would enjoy designing them even.

“Do you like to read?” Luke asks, his tone turning almost petulant. It shoots a thrill through me and makes me want to grin like the Cheshire Cat. Part of me wants to push his buttons a little more and ask him whose interview this is, but I decide to indulge him.